


Most Powerful Magic

by Wordsmith_Storyweaver



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Swan - Freeform, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-25 13:35:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16198568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordsmith_Storyweaver/pseuds/Wordsmith_Storyweaver
Summary: Random one-shots of my OTP, most of them originally posted on FFN. (I will try and remember to post the original creation dates as they appear on my hard drive, descriptions, and any trigger warnings in the notes.)





	1. Ready, Set, Kill

1/17/2015     Vampires AU

* * *

 

 

She’d thought she was ready. She thought she had mentally and physically and emotionally prepared for this day for the last ten years. Betrayal alone would have made her angry enough to kill, but it was everything else, all the clinging threads spun from that single act that pushed her from blind hatred to focused determination. Every person she met while in prison became a possible lead into finding him or a connection to those who could or would help her get rid of him. And the criminal underworld had eventually led her to the real underworld, introduced her to the creatures that did more than just go bump in the night. And finally to the man standing here in the room with her—three corpses that walked into a bar and only two that remain standing.

* * *

 

He’d thought he was ready. After finding his Swan among the lost souls who came looking for his kind as a fix for their latest hit—sex, adrenaline from the danger and daring, endorphins from being bitten, or as the ultimate, final thrill—he’d seen in an instant what she truly wanted and all that they could be together. Claiming her as his and making her _vampyr_ was a foregone conclusion for him, but for her it had taken time. He’d earned her trust slowly by teaching her how to use a weapon, how to fight any human opponent, how to kill her own kind. The trainer and student relationship evolved until they had become a team, not entirely equal in their strengths but made perfect partners because of complimentary weaknesses. And when she’d finally shared her story, he’d been prepared to instantly find and slaughter the cowardly human who hurt and abandoned her like that. A timely distraction on her part had kept him by her side.

Then, after he’d turned her and while they’d searched for the wretched scum, he’d taught her the finer arts of torture passed down to him by his old human master Francis Walsingham. He’d thought he was prepared to watch her do this—to snare and entice her former lover, to lure him in with the false glamour and her siren’s voice into closing down his pathetic little bar and letting her stay. He’d thought he could idly stand in the shadows while she’d carved names and words into his skin. But the instant before she was overcome with the need for blood he was there at her side, taking a clean blade and slicing open the vein above her collarbone and pressing her mouth to it. And gods!—the sweetness of it all! Sharing blood was never as poignant, never as intense as the first bonding between sire and fledge, but dear gods his Swan made it feel just as erotic, just as intimate.

And yet there was fear in her eyes when she pulled away after reestablishing her control. The vile dreg tied to the pool table began whimpering and the stench of feces and urine hit his nose, causing him to sneer and recoil in distaste. Emma looked away, back down at the broken wretch, and Killian felt her shame hit him like a solid wave. With a growl of frustration, he spun her around and gripped her face in an unbreakable grip. If she were still fragile, still human, he would have cracked her jaw and left livid bruises on her cheeks. “That was for him, darling. Not for you—never for you. If you need blood, just ask; I want no part of him to leave this place when we’re done playing.”

His kiss was violent and thorough, fangs piercing the still tender flesh of her lips as his tongue invaded and pillaged every inch of her mouth. Their moans of desire and the scent of their lust overrode all else, erasing their victim and location from their minds completely. “And never think I could be repulsed by you, Swan. I’m a fan of every part of you.”

Her answering grin, fangs extended and teeth tinged pink with blood, was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.


	2. This Magic Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 9/28/2013 Set in Neverland. Written after Regina stalks away from the Nevengers on her own.

Emma sits cross-legged on the packed earth of the clearing, a boulder against her back to help keep it straight. Her hands rest, palms up, on her knees, and if she’s being honest with herself she feels just a tad ridiculous. Tinkerbell faces her, folded up in a similar position, except she’s hovering a few inches off of the ground. She can see her parents trying to watch unobtrusively from their tent, but Hook makes no such effort, leaning against a nearby tree and sharpening his sword. No, not Hook—Killian, she reminds herself. It’s almost as if they are two separate, distinct individuals in her mind now—the ruthless, vengeance seeking villain and the occasionally reckless, but always concerned gentleman-pirate. She had known that he and Neal had met a long time ago—they had both admitted as much—but she had no idea just how much Killian had cared for him until he brought out that sword. Baelfire’s sword, and now hers. Jones clearly is a man of many layers and depth; he just chooses to hide that complexity behind a façade of charisma, swagger, and cynicism.

“You aren’t focusing, Emma. You have to clear your mind!” The pixie snaps at her.

“Sorry. I’m not exactly into the whole New-Age, find your totem spirit animal in your cave bullshit. I just don’t see the point of all of this.”

Tink throws her hands up in frustration, unfolding her legs and pacing the clearing angrily. Killian puts away his sword and kneels down to face her, grabbing one of her hands in both of his. “Look lass, with the other magic wielders gone, we are quite frankly fucked without you. I’m not saying this to put any more weight on your shoulders—believe me, love, this is a burden I wouldn’t wish for you take on in a thousand years. But we need you to believe in yourself. You are the most resourceful, stubborn, determined women that I have ever had the misfortune of crossing blades with and the pleasure of getting to know. You can do this, silly as it may seem now; _I_ _believe_ that you can do this, and you trust me, aye?”

Emma nods her head, shocked at the power of the conviction in his voice telling her that he has faith in _her_. It reminds her of the intense faith that Henry had in her, when he believed that she could break the curse. _And he was right, wasn’t he? You DID break it. Which means Killian is probably right about your ability to learn to use magic_. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes.

“Okay, Emma. Let’s go back to the very beginning. Deep breaths—four counts in, two counts rest, four counts out, two counts rest. Back to the beginning…now clear your mind.” She listens to the pixie’s voice. Slow, even breathing; the very beginning; clear mind; back to the beginning. She feels a tingling sensation along her spine, but does her best to ignore it and keep her focus on the air going in and out of her lungs. Basic, beginning; the beginning, _her_ beginning. She frowns because suddenly, her mind isn’t clear anymore—she can see a cloud ominously building, racing toward her in a furious blend of black, green, and purple.

She can’t outrun it because it’s in her head; she’s not connected to a body anymore, so she can’t even move as it crashes into her. A flurry of sights and sounds flash all around her until suddenly, everything is darkness. She can hear muffled sounds—a soft, familiar voice calling her by name, telling her how much Daddy loves her and can’t wait to see his little princess; another voice singing a lullaby, sweet and gentle and low; she senses that same melodious voice again, but full of sadness, and so she kicks and moves to try and make that pain disappear, because her movements are always connected to happy sounds; she feels someone pressing against one of her hands, so she pushes back, hoping to hear those excited voices again.

And then, for the first time, she feels distressed and hurt. The walls are closing in; something keeps pushing against her, but it’s not like before because this does NOT feel pleasant at all. And then it’s no longer a warm red darkness—it’s way too bright and cold! She shivers uncontrollably and cries because all she wants is to be safe and comfortable again. But then she hears those voices! Much louder than before, but she recognizes them all the same. The hands that she kicked and pushed wrap her in a heated blanket that feels nice and soft against her rapidly cooling skin. And then she sees the faces that belong to the voices, smiling at her, although one looks upside down. The melodic voice is attached to curly black hair and bright green eyes, and a smile that is so just so beautiful!

Two pairs of lips kiss her repeatedly and coo a word at her over and over again. Emma. It’s a sound so filled with love and awe that she can’t help the happiness that fills her tiny body. She reaches out to touch the pretty face, and her hand comes away with a sparkling drop of something warm and wet. But then the pretty face disappears, and now she can see blue eyes, with a strong chin, and short blonde hair. The voice that called itself Daddy. She can hear crying as the wind moves fast against her face, making her close her eyes. Loud sounds start bouncing around in her ears; she doesn’t like them because they aren’t as soft or pretty as the voices—sharp and ringing. But the “Daddy” is holding her tightly, so everything should be okay. She can feel his heart beating against her tiny ear; stronger than the similar sound she has heard every single moment of her existence, it is comforting and reassuring. She could almost fall asleep to it, except the sound disappears all too soon.

The voice’s lips press against her forehead and speak to her. “Find us.” The last thing she remembers is the sadness, love, and hope that fill those simple words. _Find us!_

Emma crashes into her own body again, eyes flying open. Tinkerbell is grinning at her like an idiot, while Killian and her parents are staring at her with mouths open. That’s when she notices that she’s levitating above the ground, just like the pixie was earlier. “That’s it, girly! Now, you know you can do it, so go higher.”

She looks over at Killian who nods encouragingly. _Higher, right… So, I’d kind of like to go--_. The action happens faster than she can think it, and soon she’s up near the tree tops. Emma unfolds her legs, letting them dangle in the air below her. The wind is different up here, calling to her like it wants her to run off and play with it. For the first time that she can remember, Emma Swan feels free, like she can do anything she puts her mind to. And it’s all because of a boy who believed she could break a Curse; because of a mother, who loved her from the instant she knew her baby existed; because of a father, who adored her and had faith that she could find her way home to them; and because of a pirate, who had no reason at all to trust in her, but he did anyway.

Emma slowly, gently descends to the ground, the return to earth making her feel heavy and weighed down. She can hear her Mom and Dad whispering to Tinkerbell. “What was that? What happened?”

“She went back to the beginning, more specifically _her_ beginning. Her brain has stored memories from her birth and even before that. She felt the power of your love and your faith in her; that’s how far back she needed to go to find her happiest thoughts. And you need the happiest first before other happy thoughts will help you fly, help you make magic.”

“So, that was real? You guys really, really wanted me?” She tries to stop the tears and the broken sound of her voice, but she can’t. But it’s when she sees her Dad crying too that she just can’t take it anymore. Emma runs, despite knowing that it’s dangerous and she could be attacked by anything lurking in the jungle. She _HAS_ to run from the enormity of those awe-filled, wonderful feelings because that’s all she’s ever known to do. A pair of strong, powerful arms wraps around her and tackles her to the ground. They continue to hold her, gently, as she cries and sobs, rolling with her and turning her so that her face is pressed against his leather-covered shoulder. “The—they loved me, so much. They b—b—believed in me to come back an s—save them. Why?”

“Because you are _their_ daughter, lass. It’s in your blood to be a savior and a hero.” Killian presses a kiss to her hair, marveling at how soft the blonde curls feel against his lips. He rubs soothing circles over her back, trying to calm her down while his eyes dart frantically all around them. They are far from safe out here, so he is ever vigilant, giving her the time she needs to collect herself. Her sobbing breaths stop—thank the gods—but her can still hear an occasional sniffle, and her tears keep falling on his shirt and chest. A muffled question comes out from the region of his shoulder.

“Come again, love?”

“And what about you? You have no reason to trust me, especially not after I freaking abandoned you. Then left you with Cora in the Enchanted Forest. Then chained you to your hospital bed. Then hit you over the head with a trash can and tied you to a radiator in New York. Why did you come back? Why do you believe that I can do this?” Her eyes bore into his as if she can force the truth out of them; her hands are gripped around the lapels of his coat, shaking him to emphasize her questions, inadvertently digging her elbows into his stomach.

“Because my motto in life has always been that a man who doesn’t fight for what he wants deserves what he gets. You’re a fighter, Emma. You love that boy and the rest of your family with all your heart and soul. You’d do anything that’s necessary to save them, and the true measure of someone’s love is in their actions, not just their words. And while this may not be the most opportune or appropriate of moments, you really should know by now, lass, that I quite fancy you.”

A flash of knowledge and understanding lights her eye, quickly hidden by confusion. “You’re really that into being tied up and beaten up by me?”

“Well, it’s only from time to time, and mostly when you’re not yelling at me. I don’t mind so much being tied up it’s the fact that you don’t use it to your advantage.” A smile crosses her face, making her breathtakingly beautiful, and he swears that she actually giggled. “I mean seriously, love, what’s the point of securing a man to his bed unless you plan to--”

He feels her fingers against his lips and focuses back on her face again, which is much closer than it was a moment ago. Her eyes are filled with doubt and insecurity, as if she still isn’t sure he’s told her the truth in spite of the fact that she _has_ to know. He stays completely frozen, unwilling to force her hand; she has to believe his sincerity and make her choice accordingly. Her gaze flits back and forth between his eyes and his lips for a few seconds before she closes the distance between them. The kiss is tentative and unsure until he brushes back against her mouth, responding with just as much shyness and uncertainty and longing. He moans, unable to stop the sound of pleasure coming from his throat, because simple and innocent as it is, it feels exquisitely divine. She pulls back to see his eyes, only to find them closed in bliss, as if he’s thoroughly savoring the experience.

“Emma.” She goes back to his mouth, sliding her tongue along the sensual, full bottom lip. He opens, letting her lead, letting her deepen the kiss at her own pace. Instead of a fight, instead of resistance, she finds desire and acceptance and caring. She can feel his body responding to hers and vice versa. His hand goes to the nape of her neck, angling her head so that he can kiss her back, fingers digging into her hair and massaging her scalp. It feels so good to give in, to let go of the masks they’ve been hiding behind and stop denying what has grown between them. It isn’t the right place; it certainly isn’t the right time, but they are both done fighting.

“Killian. I’m so sorry, for all of it.”

The sound of his name makes his breath hitch in his throat. He hasn’t heard anyone, save himself, use it for centuries, and it’s perfectly right and magical that she’s the one to give it back to him. “I know, lass. I’m sorry too. But especially sorry to end this moment; we must get back, darling. And thank you… I always knew I’d love the sound of my name on your lips.”

He helps her to her feet, then keeps her hand in his as they walk back toward their encampment. It’s another happiest thought, another beginning for her to save in her mind—a wall of protection against evil and darkness, constructed by love, hope, and trust.


	3. Fancy That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 9/30/2013 Set after 3.01 in Neverland.

_“Help me find my son, or get out of my way.”_

In truth, the lass made a valid point; the whole purpose of this venture was to rescue the boy. What would be the purpose behind it all if they didn’t do all in their collective powers to succeed? Surely Regina and the Prince understood that there were casualties in a war, necessary evils that must be embraced in order to secure victory. He just hopes that one of those evils doesn’t come as close again as it did during the storm. Even walking through the jungle, following the flash of moonlit gold, he still can’t repress the residual terror when his mind’s eye watches her jump overboard again and again. Seconds before, he was consumed with a nearly unparalleled rage and desire to kill Charming; but he’d been watching her movements—he always watches her, can’t take his bloody eyes off the infuriating woman! And then she dove into the sea, as if just to spite them all for their petty bickering.

But then the winch plummeted into the waters after her, placing her in even graver danger than before. He could have sworn that he had no heart left, but clearly the organ in question had been alive and well up to that point. It had lurched painfully, and every nerve in his body was suddenly on fire to jump in to go save her. Gods know he might just have done it if her father hadn’t beaten him to it; as Captain, he knew he had to stay on the ship, that they’d all be doomed if they lost both him and Emma. But his heart…His heart is cursing him for a fool and a damned idiot! He’d offered her his ship AND his services without really questioning his motivations too closely. However, her little swim provided him with an all too clear answer. Rather like the blade she threatened him with when they first met, she’s managed to cut through all the years’ worth of painful scars and walls he’s surrounded himself with.

He refuses to give it a name, this painful churning in his very soul at the taunting reminder that he almost lost his Swan. His footsteps falter on that thought, causing Regina to bump into him and curse his clumsiness. He lets her pass, more than willing to hide his own shock in the shadows, as far distant from the object of his musings as possible. No doubt if she heard him even mentally refer to her in any sort of possessive tense, she’d have him skewered and gibbeted faster than a pixie’s wink. Yet it is impossible to deny that Emma has always brought out a bit of the protector in him. Clearly the lass is more than able to fight and win her own battles, and she’s sharper than most; but he can tell that she’s been pushing and fighting her whole life, and cruel fate has given her yet another task to complete, yet another giant to face. He knows the feeling—more importantly, he knows precisely how cold and lonely it can be when you’re the one everyone is looking to for answers.

And just like that, his thoughts are back to the chill that gripped his chest when David finally hauled her up onto the deck of the Roger. She wasn’t breathing and looked pale as a corpse. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t form any rational idea beyond the constant denial—she couldn’t be dead, she couldn’t be gone, she couldn’t leave him like this. His relief had given way to this quiet back and forth, from wanting to scream and rage at her stupidity to simply watching her move and breathe and be alive. Those few agonizing seconds had aged him far more than all the years he’d spent in Neverland before. It was pure, unadulterated madness to try reaching them all in that way! Only made worse by the fact that it worked; once they’d ceased bickering and trading blows, once they were united toward a common goal in saving her, the storm had died to nothing. Granted, his ship had been damaged even more in the process, but somehow the Jolly Roger’s wounds seem to him a small price to pay so long as Emma never frightens him like that again.

He notices that they’ve outstripped his contemplative pace, but thankfully they can’t have gotten too far ahead of him. Unfortunately, when he enters the clearing that Emma has decided to use as campsite for the evening, his absence has been noted and commented on already. Her eyes lock on him instantly and all but spit fire. She finishes whatever conversation she was having with the others and furiously stalks over to him, taking hold of his right arm in a grip just shy of bruising. “May I speak with you?”

“At your service, my lady. And although I quite enjoy being manhandled by you, love, it’s quite unnecessary; don’t want the other troops to get jealous now.” She fumes silently as they march further into the jungle. He’s not quite sure what she has to complain about, but he knows Swan well enough that she’ll be unable to contain her anger much longer. In about three, two…Emma rounds to face him. He tries not to grin at how well he can read her, but apparently he fails.

“First of all, when I said I would be your leader, I meant it. When you got in line and followed, you agreed to that, yes? Well then I need you to toe that line, Jones! If Regina even catches a whiff, a tiny odor of insubordination, then she is going to pack up her magic bag of tricks and leave us. Now, I don’t know about you, but I know that I’ll sleep better at night knowing that we have a magic user in godforsaken hell-hole! So, no questioning my orders, no little acts of rebellion like falling behind!”

The many layers of irony about Emma Swan lecturing him about the chain of command and insubordination certainly do not escape him. But despite it being just the two of them, he takes her words with the seriousness they deserve. “My apologies, Swan. I was lost in thought; it was careless and stupid, but rest assured that it won’t happen again.”

She gapes at him awkwardly, almost as if she was expecting a fight from him over taking orders from a woman. “Right. Well, see that it doesn’t. And second, what the hell was that back there?”

“Much has happened in the past 24 hours, lass. Would you care to be specific, or shall I guess?”

Apparently, his quota of sass for the day hasn’t been reached yet. “On the beach. Saying that you “fancy” me, in front of my parents. What does that even mean by the way? And if it’s some sick, perverted--”

He steps right into her personal space, eyes bright with something she can’t, or won’t, name. “It means, love, that I enjoy being around you, that your mere presence somehow makes the world around me brighter, that knowing you are near brings with it the simple, pure kind of pleasure that I haven’t known in centuries; it means that I respect the hell out of you, because only you could make three royals and a pirate Captain follow in your train with a pithy speech and a snap of your fingers, Swan; it means that that infuriating stunt you pulled by diving off my ship drove me mad with worry, and that I couldn’t breathe, love, when your father pulled you up out of the sea. If there’s one lesson I’ve learned in all of my wretched existence, it’s that you don’t wait until the timing is perfect—if you see something or someone you want, then by the gods, you don’t hesitate. And I don’t know what spell you’ve cast over me, Emma, but I’ll follow you into hell if you ask it of me. Just don’t bloody ever scare me like that again! I can’t lose you!”

By the time his words run out, he’s shaking her with hand and hook on her shoulders, fear a noticeable presence in his eyes. “Hook, I…”

“No, lass. Call me Killian; call me Jones if you must, but not that! You named me a pirate, not a villain. I’ll probably wear this infernal thing for the rest of my life, but let it be a name of fear preying on my enemies’ minds. Don’t make me hear it for your lips, flung at me like the curse it is. Please.”

It’s the truth and sincerity ringing in every word that has her speechless. He’s _terrified_ of losing her; he’s _choosing_ to let go of the past and his hatred, _for her_ ; and the timing _isn’t_ perfect, but without pushing her for more, he’s laying his cards out on the table. He’s being as transparent with his desires as he possibly can, without trying to force her hand in any way. He wants her to choose him because _she_ wants to, and no other reasoning will be acceptable to him. So for once in her life, Emma stops thinking things to death and chooses to feel, chooses to no longer be blind to what is right in front of her. She places her hands to his cheeks, tilting his face so she can see his eyes better. “Shh. Hey, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I scared you, and it’ll take getting used to, but I’ll try and remember to call you by your real name.”

She really only meant to press her forehead to his…honestly. But there was just something so vulnerable, so needy and desperate about the look in his eyes; and other than when fighting him at Lake Nostos, she’s never been close enough to really notice just how sensual and inviting his lips are. _One kiss couldn’t hurt, could it?_ She closes her eyes first, so he sees her lips part in a breathy sigh before softly pressing against his. It’s as ethereal as a dream, with a pleasure just as elusive; she both hears and feels the whimper that breaks from his throat, knowing that he would rather be tortured by his own contained desire for her than push her into something she doesn’t want. Only, that one kiss isn’t enough for Emma; it only served to tantalize, to whet her appetite, to set her whole body on fire for Killian.

“What are you waiting for, Jones? A monogrammed invitation?” His hand and hook slide to her lower back, pulling her into his body with a low growl. She meets a hard, hot wall of muscled chest and thighs, hidden underneath the layers of leather, and the rising heat and length of his erection is impossible to mistake.

“No games with me, Swan. Not now, not tonight; is this what you really want? I don’t think I’ll be able to stop--” She presses her fingers against his lips.

“I’d kick your ass if you tried to stop. Kiss me, Jones; make me forget this is the wrong time and the wrong place, because despite trying to fight myself and what I want, this feels too damn right.” She pulls his face back down to hers, meeting his mouth with a greedy, lust-fired kiss. Tongues cross like swords, only this battle is over who can give the other the most pleasure, who can wring the most moans and low sounds of desire out of the other. She feels the tip of his hook dig lightly into her back, a cold, steely reminder of the double-edged blade that is Killian Jones—pleasure and pain wrapped in one dangerous, irresistible package. She arcs her whole body into him, writhing against him sinuously; she can’t get close enough, and yet too much is in the way.

But just like when they fight, they read each other and work as a team. When his hand slips down her ass to the back of her thigh, she moves with him, wrapping her legs around his waist as he lifts and starts walking forward. He firmly pushes her back against the nearest tree, grinding his hips into her and making her break from the kiss to come up for air. He trails hot, open-mouthed kisses down her jaw and neck while she slips the coat from his shoulders and works on his belt and the laces of his trousers. She smiles at the moan the ripples through his whole body when she finally wraps her hand around his shaft and strokes the velvety, hot skin. She grabs his chin with her other hand, forcing his mouth back to hers and sucking on his soft lower lip.

But she’s forgotten what a nimble-fingered thief he can be, until his fingers are teasing her through her lacy panties.


	4. She Wonders When

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 10/28/2013 Set immediately after The Kiss and "Good Form".

Rather than gathering firewood, Killian all but runs to the river once Emma passes beyond his sight needing as much distance between him and her as possible. He kneels down, scooping up a lone handful of water to splash on his face, but the sight of his reflection startles him. For all the scars and lines on his skin that are so familiar, he barely recognizes the person staring back at him—this stranger who looks nothing like the infamous and feared Captain Hook, nor like the carefree charmer Killian Jones. This is not the face of a man who is merely flirting to pass the time; it’s not the face of a man completely unaffected by the passions and the emotions released in that kiss. Gods! Could you even call whatever that was by such a paltry name as a “kiss”? It was a bloody revelation! A moment of mind-numbing clarity!

The stranger staring back at him is a man who is stunned and in awe, that the first woman in centuries who has had any sort of hold over his heart would think of him as worth saving; that this princess, above him in every possible way, would offer him not only a chance to be a part of “something,” but to be a part of her life; that this beautiful creature could know and look upon the darkest recesses of his soul, yet still deign to touch him, to trust him, to kiss him like that!… But there is something lurking there in this man’s eyes, something haunted. If he were prey, Killian would scent the stink of fear pouring off his body like sweat. He sees an untamable pain, an agony that has dug deep into this other man’s soul and has only grown and festered with the passage of time. This is the face of a man who is terrified because his wildest dreams seem to be coming true with this vibrant, fiery, fierce, courageous woman. And if there’s one thing that this man knows for a certainty, it’s that dreams can die, can be killed, can be crushed in an instant. For as much as he fears being alone, he’s petrified of taking a risk and then losing her.

He shakes the ghosts from his thoughts and banishes his demons to the shadows, splashing his face and running his hand through his hair. He wonders briefly at her choice of chores for him, smirking to himself before determining to obey her commands to both the letter and spirit of the law. But first, a bracing sip from his flask is probably in order, and it didn’t escape his notice that Swan was the last to drink from it.

* * *

 

She wonders when she’ll stop being surprised by him when he does exactly what she asks him to. We need to save Henry— _I offer my ship and my services_ ; go gather firewood or something— _as you wish_. Even in choosing tonight’s campsite he had gone above and beyond, picking a spot near a small river (or large stream, depending on how you look at it). He’d shown them all the way to the short, 10-foot waterfall that ended in a bit of a pond before continuing its route toward the ocean, suggesting that anyone so inclined could bathe or at least rinse the worst of the dirt and sweat from their clothes. Emma’s never been much of a princess (ha ha) or a girly girl, but just the idea of getting even remotely in the neighborhood of clean sounds ridiculously wonderful. Besides…after the heat from that kiss, she could use a cool-down in more ways than one!

But one thing that definitely didn’t surprise her was that Hook had managed to save David’s life somehow, because if there’s one thing he drilled into them over and over was just how dangerous the island could be.  She did find it curious that he seemed so nonchalant about it, so determined to make light of his part in what happened. Almost like he would rather no one ever know that he’d rescued a king as if were an everyday occurrence for him—a hero with a secret to keep. Emma laughs to herself at the visual of Killian Jones changing into a Superman costume in a telephone booth, like the superhero used to in the old cartoons she watched as a kid. He looks genuinely shocked and sheepish when Snow raised a glass to him, so much so that she could have sworn he actually blushed in embarrassment.

It’s probably the same expression he had in the split second before she kissed him. After that, well… they’d both been a little too preoccupied. She’d known he was baiting her, just trying to get her typical eye roll and brush off at first. But then he’d tapped his damn lip and worn that precociously innocent, boyish grin! All but begging her to tell him just how adorable he was when he decided to be flirty. She’d known that he was doing it to distract away from the seriousness of her gratitude, making lighter of the rescue than he already had because she knows that selflessness and personal sacrifice are not entirely natural to him. Somehow though, she couldn’t stop herself from responding, from rising to the challenge. It was when he shot back about David’s life being worth more than simple words though that decided her. Because troubled relationship aside, she doesn’t know how she could have handled another loss, another grave, another person leaving her behind—and that ultimately motivated him to save the other man, because he knew that she needs her father.

So, she’d thrown down her own challenge, fully expecting him to make the first move. But she’d failed to account for the fact that, when all is said and done, Hook has never once failed to be a gentleman. There was a certain refreshing honesty about that, his polite consistency; so completely, radically different from every other man she’d ever dealt with before. And he’d just sounded so smug, declaring that she was the one who was going to back down, who was going to break first, that she had to wipe that look off of his face. What she hadn’t expected was to be so affected by his kiss, to have wave upon wave of her own desire come crashing down on her all at once. The gentle way his hand sifted through her hair and momentarily cup her head; the fleeting, teasing brush of his tongue before he sucked and nibbled on her lip; that almost imperceptible grunt; the feel of his coat, fisted tightly in her hands so that she didn’t fall although she had literally gone weak in the knees there at the end; his breathy speechlessness had all contributed to the fire racing along her skin and the molten heat that settled low.

She doesn’t remember ever being so consumed, so turned on by just one kiss before. And it was that threatening burn that had her slamming her walls back in place and running for the hills immediately. She mumbled some cutting response and gotten the hell out of there. But not before she’d seen the look on his face and then heard him use that ridiculous movie line. _As you wish_. What 80’s kid _didn’t_ watch “The Princess Bride” at least once in the theaters and then over and over again on VHS?!.... But then, he hadn’t even been in Emma’s world long enough to even know what a movie was, much less watch one… Right? She shakes her head in denial—only Hook would accidentally stumble upon the single most romantic line from the cheesiest romantic comedy of her childhood by accident! Truth really is stranger than fiction she supposes.

Emma does notice though, the way he watches her covertly during the impromptu celebration around the campfire. He tries not to be obvious about it, of course, but the fact that she’s sitting next to him as usual does give her the best opportunity to observe him. She can always feel it when he’s watching her because a sort of chill runs over her body, setting every nerve on high alert in a way that isn’t exactly unpleasant. Hell! Who is she kidding? It feels phenomenal, fantastic! For someone who always thought about herself as being invisible to everyone, it’s amazing to her that there’s now someone who always cares, always gives a damn about every move she makes. Although, it does make her a little jumpy at times too. She’s just really not used to any of what she’s feeling at the moment, and reliving every second of that kiss really isn’t helping her any.

She’s finally had enough tossing and turning that she decides maybe getting clean isn’t such a bad idea after all. In this humidity, she should be able to wash her clothes, wring them out, and then be okay to put them on in about five minutes or less.  Plus, the camper’s version of a cold shower couldn’t hurt either. Emma leaves Neal’s sword under her blankets—still unable to think of it as her own—but takes the dagger she brought back home with her from the Enchanted Forest. Except for when she went to New York with Mr. Gold, she’d taken to wearing it around town, hidden in a sheath in her boot; she figured that having an extra weapon on hand certainly couldn’t hurt, and now that she’s in Neverland, she’s glad she had the forethought to do it. She hears the waterfall at least a full minute before she sees it, even though it’s not massive—certainly nothing like some of the falls along the Colorado River, where it snakes through the Arizona desert. Or the Columbia River that acts as the border between Washington state and Oregon…

Emma shakes the morbid, angry thoughts that start to clutter her mind. Now isn’t the time to be dwelling on Neal and all the many ways he’s managed to hurt her and screw her over, even from beyond the grave it would seem. She actually finds it kind of funny—two times she’s been tricked into walking into a cell by a man, but only one of them left her with a key that would let her escape; both are thieves and liars, but only one of them has always been open and honest about himself and his motives. She skids to a halt just as the falls come into view, thoughts flying from her mind, because in all her tossing and turning, she failed to check and see who else might have decided to get clean. Hook stands under the falls in the shallow pool, which—fortunate or unfortunate, she can’t really say—comes up past his waist. She sees pale lines of scars crisscrossing his back, almost white against the tanned skin, and wonders how he got them. She notices how much darker his hair looks now that it’s wet, blue and silver highlights seeming to flash through the moonlight and water.

“Has anyone ever told you that spying is a terribly nasty habit?”

She does her best not to jump or shudder in revulsion, but there’s something viscerally off about this particular demon-spawn version of Peter Pan that Walt Disney never prepared her for. “That’s funny coming from you. Nice map by the way; I thought I was supposed to find my son with that thing.”

 “Oh, you will…whenever I’m good and ready for you to.” There was a certain sadistic light in his eyes, so at odds with the rest of his gangly, childlike exterior. But then again, he did remind her of some of the older boys she often encountered at the various orphanages and foster homes. They had been tossed around so often, their trust abused, and their hopes at finding a home and parents dashed to pieces one too many times; and something would break inside of them, some unidentifiable spark died in them… They had lost hope, and so they became vicious, cruel, and occasionally violent with the younger kids.

“So, since you’re here, I’m assuming that you’ve either come to gloat or you want something. What game are we playing tonight?” Emma crosses her arms defensively, leaning back against a tree so that her back is at least semi-guarded.

“Well… I was thinking something along the lines of ‘Truth or Dare,’ but I have a particular challenge in mind to make thing a bit more interesting. I’m going to tell you a truth, the same truth I shared just a short while earlier with your beloved Captain. At least, a kiss like the one you gave him seems to imply a little reciprocation of feelings…” She keeps her poker face on, but just barely. Her parents clearly have no restraint when it comes to public displays of affection, but for Emma—and she assumes, for Hook also—what happened between them was private. As someone who has been in the foster and the prison system, privacy is not something she likes having violated. If she thought it would do any good, she’d have no problem gutting this cocky little shit!

Not having gotten the reaction he was clearly looking for, Pan’s gaze on her becomes darker, more focused. “I told him that despite a detour to the Enchanted Forest, Nealfire, or whatever his name is, is both alive and well. Although, the well part is a bit of a stretch, since I do currently have him drugged and caged.”

He grins wickedly because Emma can’t stop herself from perking up at this. “He what? How is he—how did he survive?”

“I really haven’t a clue. All that matters is that he’s here, and now, both you and the good Captain know it. The question you have to ask yourself, Emma, is given your blossoming romance with Hook, will he be man enough to tell you what he knows?”

The boy fades off into the shadows, leaving behind him an air of pollution. She feels corrupted and unclean, a feeling of wrongness that goes deep into her bones. Pan wants them at odds, wants them divided and at each others’ throats like they were when they arrived. Hook may not even know, or the pest in tights could have made the whole thing up… The real question is, does she trust Hook to do the right thing? _Well, I suppose now is as good a time to find out as any…_


	5. He Wonders If

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 11/4/2013 Companion piece to pervious chapter "She Wonders When".

_Two Days Later_

Killian scoops up another handful of sand from the rock ledge, wetting it slightly before scrubbing it against his shirt. One of the many benefits of this particular spot--there’s no mud, only sand, which must have come from millennia of rocks and shells being pulverized by the water from the falls. The sand, while certainly not as good as soap, will pretty much clean any cloth, or skin, without mucking it up further. His boots and pants are neatly tucked away on the ledge, just within his reach, but outside of the spray and splash of the water. It’s also where he left his dagger, sword, and his hook with its brace. He eyes the weapon he uses for a hand, hating it even more than ever after Pan’s dig. Because the demon-spawn is right about one thing—Killian may have redeemed some of his long-neglected honor by saving the Prince and keeping his secret, but Emma Swan deserves the absolute best in life, princess or not. He could never do enough to ever possibly hope to deserve her love. And therein lies his problem: he wants her to love him and yet knows that he could never dream of winning it in another lifetime of trying.

Which is why he had the bloody brilliant idea of telling the truth, and look what it’s earned him. Strained silence between himself and Neal, the younger man seeming to take every opportunity to “accidentally” knock into him or curse him under his breath. But it’s the lack of Emma that’s bothering him the most. Before his declaration, the moments of silence between them were comfortable; now, it seems like she tenses or maybe flinches away when he comes near her. It’s maddening, seeing her within reach but having her be untouchable as the moon… Bugger all! He doesn’t bloody deserve her and that’s that! He tosses the handful of sand away, thoroughly disgusted with the maudlin track his thoughts have sunk into. He immediately thinks of his other failure, of the man who refuses to be called by his own name. Killian knows that he’s the one she spoke of on the beanstalk, knows that he’s Henry’s father, but that for some reason, he abandoned Swan and their child. He grabs a palm sized rock and his shirt from the ledge, dunking both under the water and scrubbing the material angrily.

What bloody well happened to the young boy who was unafraid to defend his dead mother’s honor against a pirate captain? He had been concerned about Bae when the inevitable confrontation had happened, naturally, but he had also felt a swelling pride that Milah’s son had inherited her fighting spirit. As a child, he had fought for what he wanted and what he believed in; where did that boy disappear to? He finally gives up on the shirt, wringing the extra water out and laying it flat to dry. But that leaves both his hand and his mind unoccupied, prey to memories of that bloody kiss and his foolish confession in the echo caves. The water is cool, yet hardly cold, so it doesn’t take his body long to begin reacting to the direction his thoughts are taking. It’s as if every single thing in his life is beyond his control at the moment, even himself, and he hates it. And thanks to the brat-king of Neverland, he can’t even take a calming swig of rum to clear up his mind and…other parts of his anatomy without feelings of guilt and self-loathing. _Why did I ever fucking agree to come back to this hell?_

“Hook.” The sound is faint, but he’d recognize that voice anywhere, especially since it belongs to the person who is the cause of his current state. He looks up and sees her on the bank near the falls, yelling his name from the looks of it so he can show her how to find the path that leads to the ledge behind the falls. Seven hells, just what he needed! Emma Swan sneaking up on him whilst he’s both unarmed and under-dressed! He sighs before ducking under, swimming trough the churning water and out into the main body of the pond. Once he surfaces and clears his eyes, he notices that she isn’t carrying her sword.

“Please tell me that you didn’t walk through the jungle unarmed, love!”

He can practically hear her eyes as the roll at him. “I’m not stupid. Now how do I get back there without getting drenched?”

“There’s a bit of a passage way through the rock. Just go round a bit and you’ll find it.” He watches the jungle as she heads toward the cavern, and then curses himself for not immediately moving to get dressed or asking her to give him a few minutes. Now, he’ll either have to ask her to leave for a bit—which he’s not a fan of, since it will leave her alone and vulnerable—or do his best to be gentleman whilst she bathes and washes her clothes, and then remain in the water until she’s gone. He hears her call for him again, voice distorted and amplified by the stone and water. Which means that if Pan didn’t already know where they were presently camped, he certainly would now. He sees her motioning for him to come to her. _So much for being a gentleman!_ He quickly submerges again, obeying her command as always.

* * *

 

The second she sees him up close, Emma begins to doubt her own plan, or rather her willingness to stick with her plan. She breathes in and out slowly, telling herself repeatedly to stay calm and to go for it. When he resurfaces, flicking water out of his hair and eyes, Emma’s actions and thoughts stutter momentarily. “I’m sorry for barging in on you… I should have checked to see if someone was here first. Should I?...”

“And have you trek all the way back through the jungle alone again? Once is tempting fate, Swan; twice is just begging to be snatched. I’ll just—go for a swim, shall I?” He swallows convulsively when she lifts her shirt off over her head, revealing a black corset-like garment. Emma actually laughs at him when he swiftly averts his eyes.

“It’s just a bra, Hook. I’m sure you’ve seen plenty of them. Actually, back in my world there are bikinis that show off more than this.” He keeps his back to her as she continues stripping down to just her underwear, not even turning around when she splashes into the water noisily.

“I have no bloody clue what you just said, lass, but I never lied about being a gentleman; and a gentleman simply doesn’t watch a woman disrobe without her express permission.” _Gods! I sound like an uptight, priggish arse!_

She laughs at him again, a sound he gets fonder of every time he hears it. Emma walks around to face him. “I honestly didn’t think about it, but I appreciate the courtly gesture. In the world I grew up in, a bikini is one type of swimsuit—an outfit you wear whenever you go to the pool or the beach or go sailing for fun. And a bra—well, I guess a bra is kind of like a corset, but just… you know.” _Oh God! I can’t believe I’m discussing my underwear with him! I must sound like an idiot!_

But she does notice that even though the water almost comes up to her breasts, he’s submerged up to his shoulders. She flicks a glance over at his pile of clothes, noticing the hook and brace for the first time. He’s hiding from her. “I… I wanted to ask how you’re doing. We haven’t gotten a chance to talk since…”

“There’s no need to, love. I said what I did because it was the truth, aye, but because I wanted to give you your happy ending. With Neal. You deserve--” He only stops because she’s gotten so much closer, close enough to silence him by pressing a finger to his lips.

“I’m not the type of person to give speeches. You know that I’m much more comfortable actually doing something than talking about it. Do you know what my secret was? It was that I was hoping that Pan was just playing another game; when Mary Margaret said that Neal was alive, something inside me started aching. It was so much easier, so much less messy and complicated if he had just stayed dead. I wished that Henry’s father were dead, and a part of me felt so horrible for wishing that; because what kind of savior lets the Evil Queen rip out the hearts of Lost Boys and prays that a dead man stays dead?”

Killian stood up, cupping her chin in his palm and then, as if he had suddenly forgotten it, slowly lowering his left arm. “You let Regina do that so that your son wouldn’t lose hope, and you should never have to apologize to anyone for that, savior or no. And while I don’t know the full story, I do know that the Baelfire I knew would never in a thousand years have abandoned you; he truly is a far different man than I ever expected him to become, but I’m sure he had his reasons.”

“He left me because Pinocchio told him to; told him that I was the savior and that I was going to break the curse. He left me, because he knew that someday I would go to Storybrooke and find his father; and he let me go to prison for a theft he committed, just so I wouldn’t be able to track him and follow him. He abandoned me when I was pregnant, and even if he didn’t know that, he still sent me to jail. And I had to give up Henry because he was born before my prison sentence was over and I had no family or friends to take custody of him.” He swears under his breath, momentarily looking away from the bright intensity of the pain in Emma’s eyes. But the feel of her hand resting on the skin directly over his heart brings him back to her.

“And after all of that, do you know what his secret was? He says that he’s never going to stop fighting for me. When I told my best friend that I had kissed you, she said that Neal would understand. If I had told her a year ago that it was “just a kiss,” she would have rolled her eyes at me and called my bluff; but now, it’s like she doesn’t even know me. And I know she didn’t mean to, but I got so angry with her again, when she said that she wanted another baby; because growing up without her, and then spending time in prison for Neal, I always believed that no one could possibly love me.” The tears in her eyes and the sobbing out of her last words breaks down the last wall between them as he pulls her close, kissing her hair and holding her as she cries out twenty-nine years worth of loneliness, bitterness, and pain. He curses himself and Snow and Neal for bringing her to this point.

He holds her as she weeps, for herself and for her son no doubt, his hand tangling in her hair as he tries to rub circles in her back with what remains of his mangled left arm. But he freezes when he feels the warmth of her lips caressing his neck; he gently pushes her away from him before his body decides to start making its needs known. “Emma, you shouldn’t—you don’t know what you’re doing right now, love.”

She shakes her head, moving her hand to his cheek and brushing her thumb through the stubble along his jaw. “That’s just it, Killian; I know exactly what I’m doing. You haven’t asked for anything I wasn’t willing to give you. Snow and Neal keep pushing me, trying to make me accept something that I don’t want. You’re the only person who has given me the space I need to finally know what that is; you haven’t complained when I’ve bossed you around, you’ve supported every decision I’ve made here… You’ve been fighting for me all along; apparently, I just needed to see the difference between saying and doing. Killian, I can’t promise that things will be easy, and I can’t be focused on anything except for rescuing Henry; but then, you already knew that too. Your actions this past week—saving my father, keeping me sane—they speak far louder and clearer than his words ever could. Because at the end of the day, he’s only ever given me empty promises. You, Killian Jones, are the man who has given me hope.”

This time when she kisses him, there’s still passion and fire, a raging heat that threatens to consume them and melt their bones; but there’s also a tenderness, an earnest gentleness as if they are handling something new, rare, and infinitely precious to them both. And though the moment ends, a new glowing flame lives where only fear and darkness existed before.


	6. Just Benefits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 7/3/2014 Based off of this Gif set: http://effulgentcolors.tumblr.com/post/90376593141/cs-au-week-day-3-modern-day-cs-just-sex  
> Lawyer and Intern Smut  
> Warnings: rough sex, workplace power dynamic (he's not her direct boss)

Her phone chirps at her—literally. One short, sweet tone of a bird chirping alerts her to an incoming text from one very specific individual. She has no doubt what it will say, but she smiles to herself before sliding her finger across the screen of her smart phone to open the message. _Copy room in ten._

At the prestigious law firm of Mills, Gold, and Blanchard the only people who end up actually using the copy room on a consistent basis are the poor college students who desperately need the internship hours for their law degrees; the attorneys pass stack after stack and case file after case file down to their secretaries, who hand them off to the lowly and often unpaid interns. Time wasted in the copy room can range from ten seconds, if you’re lucky, to more than three hours if you aren’t; and if you’re extremely lucky, you manage to squeeze in your copy job before the rest of the interns get their assignments.

It should also be noted that like all good lawyers, the firm has a strict non-fraternization policy covering any and all romantic relationships between the interns, the secretaries, the paralegals, and the attorneys. Not that the playboy, hotshot partner who specializes in divorce and family law, Killian Jones, has ever given a bloody damn about the firm’s policies. When Emma finally reaches the door to the copy room, she quietly chuckles at the improvised sign that lists it as off limits for the next hour. She turns the knob any way and quickly finds herself pinned against the solid oak panel, face pressed against the door and a long, hot line of masculine flesh pressed against her back. She sees a calloused, long-fingered hand reach around her body and click the lock into place before that same hand possessively grips her hip and slides roughly over her ass.

“Why, Ms. Swan again! I thought we discussed your blatant disregard for company memos already this week. Did you or did you not read the sign posted on the opposite side of this door clearly stating in plain English that the copy room was to be considered off limits to subordinates and inferiors for the next hour?” His one hand continues its quest, sliding underneath her skirt to knead her ass and explore the hidden skin beneath the lacy frills of her panties. His other hand brushes her curls away from her neck so he can nip and suck, bite and lick the sensitive flesh behind her ear and down her shoulder.

“I did read the sign, and personally, I thought you might be doing a little overcompensating, or maybe some wishful thinking if you believe that anyone would actually expect your high and mightiness to be doing your own dirty work, let alone for an entire hour. And as I’ve told you before, I’m certainly not your inferior.” She hooks one of her stiletto-ed feet around his ankle and bucks against his hold on her. The move would have landed him on his ass if she hadn’t quickly turned and pressed her advantage, keeping him on his feet as his back collides against the opposite wall and.

“Gods, woman! I love it when you play dirty.” He pulls her face to his, roughly sucking her lower lip in between his as he furiously works the buttons on her blouse. She’s just as hungrily attacking his own shirt, but far ahead of him, yanking him closer to her by the tie she’d unknotted in a second flat. He moans when he sees the black lace bra that conceals exactly nothing, recognizing it and getting harder at the thought of the matching pair of panties she’s wearing. She unbuckles his belt and unzips his trousers, pushing them and his boxer briefs down just past his ass before maneuvering him to sit on the edge of the rickety work desk.

She doesn’t even bother removing her skirt, just slides it all the way up to her waist. He stretches out a bit on the desk, getting comfortable and giving her room to straddle his lap. She follows him flawlessly, kneeling on either side of his thigh, digging her heels into his half-clothed flesh, rolling on the condom that he had waiting in his pants pocket, and keening as she lowers herself onto his aching cock. He thumbs at the black lace of her crotch-less panties, trying to think of anything except of how hot and tight and wet she is wrapped around his length. “Were you planning on getting fucked in the copy room, Ms. Swan? Bad form to be engaging in an office affair.”

She grins at him wickedly, one hand cupping a breast and tweaking her pebbled nipple through the gauzy material, and the other working her clit through the slit in her panties. She looks wanton, but thoroughly in control, purring sinfully as she pleasures herself and rides him. “I’d be worried, counselor, except I’m _firmly_ convinced that someone on the human resources investigatory committee would be hard-pressed to find grounds on which to fire me. You could say I have him by the balls.”

Killian growls and leans up, driving his hips into hers with several powerful thrusts that pry tiny whimpers from the back of her throat. He kisses her demandingly, tongue intruding into her mouth just as his cock roughly stretches and fills her dripping pussy. “And a few other choice parts too. Fuck, Swan! My office would be far more comfortable, and I’d personally love to vividly recall being buried deep in your cunt or hitting the back of your throat while I’m entertaining more boring clients. Would you like that, Swan? Say you’ll be my intern; we wouldn’t have to meet in the bloody copy room!”

Emma groans as he bites the tops of her breasts, moving quickly to her lace covered nipples and alternately sucking and licking them. “I’m not specializing in family law, Jones. An internship with you would be wasted.”

Killian takes advantage of her distraction to lift her off his lap and flip them so that she is bent over the desk in front of him. He pins her there, pulling both of her arms behind her back and clinging to her wrists with one hand while the other guides his cock back to her entrance. He sinks in all the way, pulling a surprised yelp and another moan from her. “You’re fucking brilliant, Swan, and Mills is wasting _your_ talents because she’s a stuck-up bitch who can’t stand the fact that she’s not the young, sexy hotshot anymore. You. Belong, With. Me. I’d give you more courtroom time, more practical experience, and we’ll still have plenty of time to fuck in the luxury of a private office. Stop being so stubborn woman, and say yes!”

She can’t stop the sounds of pleasure coming from her mouth as he sets a brutal rhythm, even though she does her best to keep them quiet. A huge part of her knows that he’s right, that it really doesn’t matter whether she interns with him or with Ms. Mills; her program doesn’t specify that they work for an attorney who specializes in the type of law they intend on practicing after graduation. But if someone like her suddenly starts working for someone like Killian, people are going to assume the worst—that she earned her internship and letters of recommendation on her knees. And for young lawyers trying to make a name for themselves, rumors like that are like blood in the water.

“It’s—fuck! It’s only five more weeks, Jones. If you want to hire me after my internship ends, then I’ll consider it. But for now, just shut that pretty mouth of yours and fuck me like you mean it!” He obliges by grabbing a fistful of her hair, forcing her to arch her back for him; the new position of their bodies changes the angle of his thrusts, each one unerringly hitting her cervix and making her writhe and whimper. It’s enough to have her whole body wound tight and begging for release, but not enough to make her shatter.

“I can do this all fucking day, Swan. Keep you here, orgasm just out of reach… I could fuck you six ways from Sunday and not let you come until you agreed. But then we’ll be stuck in this bloody uncomfortable, inconvenient piece of shit room all bloody day! So, I’m going to give you the best fucking orgasm of your life, Swan. And then I’m going to walk out that bloody door, and I won’t send you another bloody text. No more copy room rendezvous, Swan. No mid-day trysts to relieve the throbbing ache between your thighs. Every day, you’ll have to come in here and make stupid bloody copies for Mills, and think about every time I’ve fucked you senseless in this room. Now, fucking come for me, Swan!”

Killian reaches around her body and instantly finds her clit, caressing it lovingly until she shudders and clamps furiously around him, her muscles fluttering as rapidly as hummingbird wings and as hard as a vice. His vision goes hazy around the edges, and he hears Emma’s keening pants for breath with purely masculine, primal pride. It takes them both a while to come down from the high, her whimper at his withdraw from her soaking confines putting a smug grin on his face. He ties the condom in a knot, carefully placing it in the plastic bag he brought for the purpose. He buttons up his shirt and tucks it carefully into his pants before he straightens Emma’s skirt for her.

He walks to the door with a bit of a spring in his step before her voice softly calling his name stops him. He turns and looks at her: her hair is a mess and the hazy after-glow of sex make her look positively wrecked. But even like this, she manages to best him. She carefully leans forward, giving him a great view of her breasts, and slowly slips her panties off. She struts over to where he stands by the door, leaning in to brush her chest against his. She kisses his cheek and slips her panties into his pocket. “Just in case the next five weeks get too lonely for you, Jones.”

She unlocks the door, unceremoniously pushes him out, before closing the door and relocking it. With her own smirk, she grabs her blouse and does up the buttons with shaking fingers. For all her cheeky confidence, she’s afraid that she’s the one who will break first, desperate for her next fix of Killian Jones long before he even has time to miss one forgettable intern in a long string of forgettable office conquests.

It only takes until 9 pm that night, when he shows up at her apartment with a bottle of tequila and her panties in hand.


	7. Kissing a Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 11/11/2013 Alternate ending conversation from "Dark Hollow".

Emma’s fairly certain that she’s never been so furious with any one human being in her entire life. That complete idiot! Two men, both more than a couple of centuries old, and they have the gall to fight over the simple operation of a stupid lighter! As if this were the dawn of time, and your ability to secure a female rested on your fire-making skills! After she had _told_ him that it wasn’t a contest! He’s the one who bloody well called her an open book, but apparently he somehow forgot how to read?! How much plainer did she have to get with him?! And, of course, once they are out of mortal danger, he goes back to obeying her every command and leaves her behind to deal with her ex!

And since when has she ever cursed something by calling it “bloody”? Since she started spending time with Killian _fucking_ Jones, that’s when! Not even randomly hacking at the leaves that even dare come within two feet of her path lessens her anger, her rage. “Easy there, Swan! What did the bloody plants ever do to you?”

And that comment is what sends her over the edge. “They got in my way; they annoyed me and provoked my wrath. So, if you don’t mind, I plan on massacring as many as I can!”

Neal shrugs over Emma’s head and mouths the word “women” at Killian; unfortunately, this sends Jones straight into her war path. “I said--if you don’t mind!”

He wheels around to face an even more irate Emma than the one of a few second past, allowing Neal to escape unscathed and continue down the path toward Tink’s treehouse. “Well maybe I bloody well do mind, Swan! Except for the fact that I have no bloody clue why you seem so upset! I acted like a stupid git and a ruddy fool back there, fighting with Neal over a bloody candle. Are you happy now?”

Instead of backing down, she gets even closer, going toe to toe with him. “No, I’m not! I’m pissed off at you because that little stunt nearly got you killed! Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“Maybe you do! Sometimes you’re like an open book, and others it’s like a need a bloody translator, Emma! I already said I’m sorry for fighting with Neal—what more do you want?”

She fists his coat in her hands and shakes him violently. “I want you to promise me that you won’t pull some stunt and get killed! I can’t lose you, Jones!”

She lets go of him suddenly, as is the black leather was suddenly burning hot. It’s so quiet after their shouting match that not even the never-bugs disturb the silence. Understanding and disbelief fill his eyes as she continues to stare at her hands and then at the ground when she shoves them into her pockets. He takes a step closer, filling the distance she created between them, and uses his good hand to lift her trembling chin. He doesn’t even need a hand to count the number of times he has seen her cry; her terror and distress are tangible things, and he’s never hated such emotions as he does right now.

When all she sees is compassion in his eyes, she can’t stand it anymore and wraps her arms around his waist, burying her face against his heart. She doesn’t understand it herself, but all she wants is reassurance that he’s still alive, that she hasn’t lost him. He reaches his hand up to stroke her hair, doing his best to gentle and soothe her. “I’m here, love. I’m not going anywhere. I would never willingly leave you. It’s alright. I’m here.”

When she finally lifts her head, she can’t stop herself from kissing him. And unlike the challenge of their first, this one is soft, nearly chaste in its tenderness. But the feel of his heart beating strong beneath the palm of her hand, the seductive brush of his lips against hers is more electric. The fire of anger that was racing through her blood now glows a more passionate shade, feeding a different hunger. This time Killian ends the kiss, as if he can sense her vulnerability. “I’m sorry that I scared you, love. But until your son is back in your arms, I will take as many risks as I dare. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to secure your happiness, Emma. Now, let’s go get your boy Henry.”


	8. Moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 7/6/2014 Alternate 3.11; post-Walsh on the roof scene. Smut.

“What the bloody blazes was that?!” Emma doesn’t hesitate or ask how he managed to get up onto the roof so fast. He had probably waited a grand total of twenty seconds in her apartment before trailing them to the stairwell leading to the top of the building.

“A reminder that I was never safe. That the life I was living for the past year is a lie. What I wanted, what I thought I could have, was not in the cards for the savior.”  It’s only when his face falls and his whole body rocks backwards as if struck that she realizes the full extent of what she’s just said. But she doesn’t have time to apologize or worry about how he feels, because whatever or whoever is running the big cosmic cluster-fuck that is her world has never seemed willing to do so for her. “We leave in the morning.”

She should have known that he wouldn’t leave it at that—that he wouldn’t let her just forget or avoid. She almost made it to the door before she heard him say her name. “Swan.”

She freezes at the tender ache in his tone, like his heart is bleeding when hers is the one that’s been battered and bruised yet again. No one else calls her Swan, and no one can breathe every ounce of faith and hope and pure emotion into one syllable like he can. No one has ever dared to try. She does her best to avoid his eyes, staring fixedly at her boots when he moves to stand in front of her. As always, he stands too close, and he wordlessly brings his fingers to brush her falling curls away from her cheek. “When you want something, Swan, you fight to get it or you fight to keep it. I told you in Neverland that I had never seen you fail, and I’ve yet to be proven wrong. Look at me, love. Will you ever have a life free from curses and magic and princes and pirates? Not a chance! But a life full of love and hope and happiness mixed in with all the bad? Aye, lass. I’ve not a doubt in my mind that you can have those things—that you _will_ have those things—if only you grasp those moments when they happen.”

She sucks in a startled breath, wondering just how the _hell_ he does that! How does he manage to sound just like her father _and_ her son? How does he know just the right words? Her mind finds the answer in her heart, and her eyes find it in his. She’s cut him with her words and wounded him with her love for Walsh—yet another man who lied and used her—but all she can see in every line of his face is her pain, her hurt, her needs. Time and again, he’s come back for her; when _she_ needed him, no matter the cost, he came back. _I came back to save you._

And suddenly all that matters is letting him know that he isn’t alone in how he feels. She brings her left hand up, taking his and pressing it fully against her cheek, leaning into the warmth of his palm before lifting her eyes to his and letting him see the desire and longing for him that’s never truly been that far from the surface. It may have been a year, but in her true memories it only seems like a matter of days; her lips remember and welcome the soft warmth of his. Her fingers search out and find the surprising silk of his hair, anchoring herself to him. The burning passion is still there, waiting to be stoked to roaring life, but he’s taking his time with this kiss like he wants to savor the moment and irrevocably fix every nuance in his mind. And to his surprise, she lets him.

She lets him lead, gives him the power to plunder and ravage if he wishes. Instead, he lingers. He gently teases, worships her mouth, and honors the trust she’s given him in revealing herself. Even at their unhurried pace, he finally runs out of breath enough to feel dizzy and pulls away to place a reverent kiss on her forehead.

But Emma’s patience apparently has its limits, and he finds himself being reeled in once again by her fisted hand in his collar and a firm tug on his hair. The details and the particulars are rather vague, yet somehow they manage to make it back down to her apartment. (Although, he does remember later that there were quite a number of walls between here and the roof that one or the other of them ended slammed up against and kissed breathless.) The second she locks the door, Killian deftly lifts the coat from her shoulders and lets it slither to the floor. She breaks their kiss long enough to wrap one long leg around his waist and jump into his arms; he catches her easily, whimpering as their hips grind in unison to create desired friction and immediately striding toward her bedroom.

He kicks the door shut behind him, toeing off his boots much faster than she’d have thought possible before letting them fall onto the bed. Lips still fused and tongues still twining and stroking in perfect synchronicity, he carefully tugs her boots off and tosses them carelessly to the floor. He breaks their kiss abruptly, his hand cupping her cheek and his thumb dragging along her chin and lower lip. “Look at me, Swan.”

She opens her eyes, struck by the serious intensity of his glare; he’s searching, reading and mapping every line of her face for even a trace of doubt. “Being a fucking gentleman should be the last thing on my mind, but I won’t cock it up between us by having a misunderstanding later. This—us—it’s everything to me, love. Now is your last chance: do you want this?”

Her doubts and insecurities, her fears and hard-won cautiousness should all be screaming at her right now. She should be running already, but she’s pinned there by more than just the weight and gravity of his body. She doesn’t need to feel the hot length of him against her thigh or the uncontrollable shivers skittering along her spine as his scruff and teeth and tongue tease the sensitive hollow just below her ear. Ever since she opened her door three days ago and found him standing there like a lost puppy who found his way home, she felt the tug and pull of her heart toward him—a part of her that Walsh could never touch and that recognized it’s other half, cursed memories be damned! She rolls her hips, not to distract him, but to welcome and entice.

“I can’t promise that I won’t be scared tomorrow, but I promise not to run. And considering that this is the last night before the shit storm of being the Savior hits, I want to live in this moment with you more than anything.” The fierce glow of happiness in his eyes and the triumphant flash of his smile practically blind her. She’s already terrified of what she means to him, and giving in will probably only complicate things. But now, here with him—something unknown within her, demanding to be heard, keeps repeating over and over that this is right. That _HE_ is right. He may not have his hook, but it doesn’t take him long to rip every piece of clothing from her body. She briefly thanks her lucky stars that she wasn’t overly attached to that outfit, but then his lips start fires all along her skin and drive every thought out of her mind. He puts his hand to good use, first one finger and then two burying themselves in her pussy. She arches her body into his, desperate to buck him off and take control or at the least to increase the delicious friction.

“So wantonly impatient, Emma; so abandoned and beyond control… Tell me something, love, did he ever make you come like this? Desperate, your pretty pink cunny so slick and wet and wanting? Greedy little lips lapping up the attention? I’ll bet he could never fully satisfy you, Swan. Not when your tight cunt responds for me like this. Say it, Swan. Tell me what I want to know.” She throws back her head keening as he hits that perfect spot that has her seeing stars. She’s almost there, cruelly hovering right on the edge of orgasm, but unable to fall. Her thighs and stomach clench while she thrashes her head back and forth across her pillows, when Killian slides a third finger in. And god! He hasn’t even touched her clit yet!

“I’ll let you come when you tell me what I want to hear, Emma. And then I’m going to taste you, make you come with just my mouth, but only once you beg for it.” She cries out in frustration, wanting to fall and stay at the peak at the same time.

“No! No one! _Never_! Jesus, _fuck_ —Killian, please!” All it takes is a gentle brush of his thumb to send sparks racing along her nerve endings. She wonders whether she should be embarrassed, impressed, or thanking whoever taught him everything he knows. As she comes down from her high, she watches him touch and marvel at her body. The expression on his face can’t be described—lascivious and dirty as a skin magazine, yet filled with the same innocent awe of a boy opening presents. She feels deliciously used and fiercely cherished all at once.

Suddenly aware of her gaze, his eyes lock with hers; his grin widens, putting her in mind of some pagan god of mischief and sex. “Truly, love, have you any idea how magnificent you are?”

Emma lifts an eyebrow in fair imitation of him. “Says the man who just fingered me to the best orgasm I’ve ever had? Are you planning on talking all night or do you intend to fuck me?”

A dark edge hardens the blue of his eyes before he growls and pins her body with his. The cool drag of the leather against her already sensitive clit and slick sex has her muscles clenching and fluttering in aftershocks and is a stark contrast to the warm scratch of his linen shirt and the heat of his chest pressed against her torso. His grip on her jaw borders on rough, but only because she jerks her head when she tries to look away from his passionate glare. “You’ve a filthy mouth, for a princess. And the answer is yes, Emma; I have every intention of fucking you until the only names you remember are your own…and mine. But I ask that you don’t attempt to cheapen this for either of us, aye?”

She whimpers and arches her body when he punctuates his request with a roll of his hips, enjoying the leashed strength that makes itself known in the pressure of his thumb along her chin and the tensing of his fingers around her throat. His grin takes on a less feral, more playful cast as he begins to whisper and brush his lips across her skin. “We have all night, Swan. And while I definitely plan on making you scream, I also plan on worshipping you, adoring you, praising you, caressing you, giving you so much pleasure that you just might beg me to stop before you expire from the terrifying ecstasy of it all. Because if this truly is the last chance I am allowed to touch you freely for a while, I want to make it count, to show you all that can be between us.”

Careful to never stop looking directly in her eyes, he flicks his tongue out against her mound and then her clit. The muscles of her thighs clench automatically, wanting to clamp down on his head and force him to stay where he is. She’s always thought it chauvinistic and crude when guys referred to oral as “eating out,” but there’s something undeniably hungry in Killian’s eyes that makes the phrase suddenly make perfect sense. And the thought of being longed for and desired like that is empowering and sexy as fuck! He sighs, letting his breath gently caress her skin before sealing his mouth around her sex. The sounds that come from his throat should be illegal and so should his exquisite technique. The same presence and passion that he puts into kissing her goes into the amazing way he pleasures her with his tongue.

She can feel his movements through her body when he tugs loose the laces of his trousers and again when he strokes himself while still driving her mad. Seeing him naked and being the one to bring _him_ mind-numbing pleasure become as necessary as breathing. “Please, Killian! I know we have all night, but I want you inside me. Let me—oh, god!—need you so much it hurts. Please.”

Emma’s voice is far more desperate than she wants it to be, but she knows that he’ll make good on his threat to have her begging. Yet at the same time, she knows and accepts on a visceral, instinctual level that only with him have her weaknesses and vulnerabilities ever been entirely safe; she may not be good with words, but if a few of them can help show him what he does to her and how he makes her feel, then she’s willing to risk it. She’ll take the risk of a blow to her pride if it means revealing the extent of her trust in him. “Oh, but you taste sinfully delicious, Swan.”

She yelps when he sucks on her clit. “Divinely decadent… What inducements are there for me to stop feasting?”

She bites her lip and moans; he’s begun timing his strokes along his shaft with the flex of his tongue against her walls, and knowing that he’s hard and ready for her and everything she wants is absolute torture. So she gives away another inch and starts talking. “Because I’m asking you… Because every time I look into your eyes and I can see exactly how you feel about me, I just can’t understand it. And because as much as you have hope, you’re afraid that I can’t feel anything good for you; and you’re wrong, because I see so much that’s good about you. Because you found me and you came back, and no one has ever done that for me except for you. And words can lie and deceive, but actions can’t, and I want to show you just how much what you done—what _you_ mean to me.”

Emma never thought that she’d ever see the day where Killian Jones was at a loss for words; every emotion can be easily read as it passes over him—curiosity, anger, self-loathing, despair, incredulity, wonder, joy, loneliness, yearning, love. The last chills her, sinks talons of fear into her heart despite the fact that she’s seen it and recognized it since the instant he fully realized how much he loved her. But she can’t deny it anymore, and a part of her ardently wants him to know that as frightened as she is, she feels the same way about him. She may not be ready or able to say the words, it may seem like it’s all too soon, but pretending that he doesn’t own her heart is no longer an option.

His expression finally settles into something nearly as terrifying as the love he’s never been able to hide from her: awe. Like after years and years of searching, he’s at last discovered the single greatest treasure in the world—and he intends on cherishing it forever and never letting go. He crawls up her body faster than she would have given him credit for, and then he’s exploring her mouth with an exquisite tenderness. His distracted worship of her lips with his allows Emma to flip them over, so that she’s on top, but he refuses to let her get that far from him. He sits up, cradling her between his slightly raised knees and his chest.

They finally break the kiss, Killian’s hand caressing her cheek and the golden locks that have fallen around her face. Ever the gentleman, he lets her take control—lets her position his cock at her entrance before sliding down his shaft. His eyes are locked on hers, so that she can see the absolute wrecked devastation he feels once he’s fully inside her; and he can see the bittersweet bliss on her face, the pained ecstasy that comes from being filled and stretched and completed in such a primal way. He thrusts his hips up and rotates them, invading her those final, impossible inches that send white starbursts across her now closed eyelids and sparks of electricity along the nerves of her sex.

Their rhythm remains slow at first, savoring the delicious friction and drag of skin on skin; their blood sings through them, hearts pounding in an increasingly erratic beat that urges them to move faster, to chase swift pleasure. But this moment has been too long in coming for either of them to wish to hurry it along. Killian’s gaze travels down her body in a nearly tangible caress, tightening the already puckered buds of her nipples and causing her flesh to tingle. He kisses her hard, yet quickly, hand finally sliding from its place on her cheek to the smooth curves of her stomach and hips. He maps out her body with reverent delicacy, committing her skin to memory before confidently caressing the small pearl above where they are joined.

“Let me feel what I do to you, love. Every night I dreamed of you, rising above me like a golden goddess; I dreamed of fucking you under the stars, of pleasuring you senseless in every single bloody room of your parents’ castles, of stretching beside you in a forest glade and making love to you as the sunlight caressed your skin. I woke hard and aching every morning, spilling into my hand so fast it was embarrassing! But I never imagined how utterly glorious it would feel to be buried in your quim like this. You are a bloody marvel—the perfect temptress, Emma. Tell me it’s just as good for you; tell me you feel it too.”

His words have the strangest effect on her, making her want to simultaneously burst into tears and to tie him to the bed and fuck him until they both collapse unconscious and exhausted. But more than this, she feels an undeniable urge to answer him in the most unequivocal way possible. She slows her pace, placing one of her palms against his prickly cheek and using the other to take his hand and press it to her heart, gently yet firmly flexing her sheath around his cock as she inches down. “This is what you do to me, Killian Jones. You make me want to take my time, to slow down, to make love to you. You make me afraid, because you’ve managed to get inside my walls and see me, and the only other men who have done that have ended up hurting me. But you also make me brave enough to risk the hurt; you make me believe that I can trust you.”

In all that they had gone through and all that they will go through in the future, Emma has yet to witness a thoroughly unattractive sight of Killian Jones; yet when his smile spreads across his entire face and tears of relief and joy begin to gather in his eyes, she knows that he’s never been more devastatingly, breathtakingly _beautiful_. And after he makes love with her for hours, including a steamy and unexpected quickie while showering, they stagger back to her bed to deliciously twine about each other before slipping off to dreamless sleep.


	9. Welcome Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 8/17/2013 Post Neverland canon divergence. Killian is sent on a short mission for the kingdom; his princess misses him. A lot. Smut.

Emma storms up the grand staircase, heading directly for her room. She’s been up since dawn, driving everyone else mad with her restless need to expend energy. She’d taken her horse out for a run around the lake first thing; the poor beast had come back lathered in sweat, but was given an extra thorough rub down for her trouble. Then it was archery lessons with Snow and Henry. Thankfully they weren’t using fully tipped arrows, otherwise a couple of unlucky wandering chickens and geese might have been added to the menu thanks to her distraction. Etiquette and decorum with Blue had been a complete waste of time because she couldn’t sit still long enough for anything to really sink in; history and geography with Nova and Grumpy was just as bad. Finally, someone had managed to rope David into sword practice with his daughter.

It had worked out some of her pent up stress, but even trained princes have their limits. She’d bloodied his lip with a left cross before he finally threw in the towel and gave up on her. The words “go to your room” had actually been yelled at one point, but to be fair, Emma knew she had earned it. She’s upset and worried and taking it out on everyone else, because it’s been exactly 4 days, 3 hours, 8 minutes, and 56 seconds since Killian left. Granted, he only left because he was their best emissary, and David had practically ordered him to go; but ever since the aftermath of Neverland, neither of them can stand the thought of being separated for very long. Unfortunately, her lack of a formal royal education combined with a notoriously undiplomatic temper have all but chained her to their kingdom. Plus, since she is still technically heir to the throne, she’s an asset they cannot afford to lose.

She keeps running through these excuses for her behavior in her mind, but she knows that none of them is entirely right. She _is_ missing Killian like crazy, but mostly because she is insanely fucking horny. Two nights of trying and failing to enter Dreamscape had taken their toll, but last night, she had finally made it; unfortunately for her, a certain former pirate had insisted that they “not distract him from his duties.” Emma didn’t _mind_ just spending time with him—hearing his voice and seeing his face had calmed a lot of her anxieties about his safety. However, she and her body have rather gotten used to her lover’s nightly care and attention. Going without sex by itself wouldn’t be so horrible, but then not having Killian’s warm body next to hers…

Once she slams the doors to their rooms shut, Emma immediately starts stripping her sweat and dirt stained practice gear and throwing it to the side. Normally, she’d be a little more considerate to the staff of servants, but she just doesn’t have the patience tonight. She goes to the bathroom and starts the shower, incredibly grateful that she had put her foot down with her list of conditions for returning to the Enchanted Forest. Indoor plumbing, electricity, and hot running water had topped the list. Thankfully, many of the citizens of Storybrooke had been “cursed” with lives that made them skilled in bringing over and maintaining modern luxuries to their new/old land. Portals can, of course, be made and opened at any time, but doing so for trivial things is not always the best idea.

She goes to the hidden cabinet in the wall, placing her hand over the panel and letting a few sparks of her magic identify her to the spell. Having a secret, magically locked “toy chest” may seem a bit like overkill to some, but not only is Emma fiercely protective of what little privacy she and Killian have as members of the nobility, she also has a teenaged son. More than anything else, she wants to pretty much never do to Henry what Snow and David did to her back in Storybrooke. Knowing that your parents have sex and seeing the evidence that your parents are having sex are two very big distinctions! Steam is starting to curl through the air when she finally has everything ready.

The shower itself is set into the corner of the room, so that it’s entirely open on two sides. Aside from the security aspect of no one being able to hide in there or able to sneak up on whoever is using it, Killian pretty much has no inhibitions when it comes to nudity, and Emma is losing hers as well. There’s a bit of a stone lip to keep water from covering the whole floor, but no glass and no curtains. She steps under the hot spray, letting the water trail down her body. The heat feels wonderful on her sore muscles, and bits of hay and grime slip away down the drain. But this does nothing to calm the restless need she’s feeling. After applying just the right about of lube, she turns the vibrator on and slides it inside her. It has nothing on her lover, but it’s the next best thing, easing the tension inside her just a bit as she pushes it slowly in and out.

She starts slipping her free hand along her body, pausing to knead her breast or tweak her nipples, imagining that Killian’s the one doing these amazing things to her. But soon, even this is not enough; she needs to get off now! Her fingers go immediately to her clit, and she changes the speed and angle of the vibrator. The tension doesn’t leave though; it just keeps building and building. She stops her movement and leans her head against the wall, frustrated beyond belief. She focuses hard on her breathing, anything to ignore the ache in her belly that’s only grown. The warm water keeps sluicing down her body, bringing tingles of awareness everywhere; it’s like everything is conspiring against her, taunting her, teasing her…

“Gods damn you, Killian Jones! How long have you been back, how long have you been watching me, and are you fucking kidding me right now?”

A throaty purr sends chills up her spine, accompanied by a pair of teasing nips to the back of her neck. “Just now, long enough, and am I ever anything less than serious when it comes to the pleasure of the most beautiful woman in all the realms? Do you have any idea how absolutely ravishing you looked a moment ago? Head thrown back, dripping wet, pleasuring yourself… You are perfection itself, Emma Swan.”

They moan in unison when he thrusts up into her, everything else forgotten but their intense desire for each other. His right hand grips her waist, but he reaches his left for hers and laces their fingers together. Now isn’t the time for soft, romantic gestures; both are frantic with need. Emma squeezes her thighs together and clenches tight around him, making him groan. “Not the brightest idea, lass.”

Before her senses can even process it, he has her back pinned against the shower wall. Then she’s being lifted up, high enough to wrap her legs around his waist and for him to bury his cock inside her once more. The gentle violence of the act and his fierce blue eyes drive every thought and every breath from her body. She might be slightly bruised come morning, but she doesn’t care; Killian is back home, and she feels whole again. “Gods, but I have missed you, Emma love! Waking up these last four mornings and not watching the rising sun caress your body, making it glow… It’s a sight I’ve come to treasure each day, and the hours without you seemed emptier for not having seen it.”

“You talk too much, Jones. Just. Keep. Fucking. Me!” She can’t help but shriek a little on her last word, because he puts her command into action, hitting that sweet spot deep inside her. Over and over, hard and fast, his ability to give her exactly what she needs never failing to surprise her. Within a few thrusts, she comes apart for him; her orgasm is so shattering that her magic breaks free of her iron self-control. Sparks of power and droplets of water sting their skin in the midst of a storm she’s conjured. Killian loves nothing more than seeing her like this—completely abandoned and wanton and beyond taming; only he gets to see her like this, because he’s the only one she trusts.

Her magic pulls on his, urging him to set it free. But he holds the power back, unwilling to give in to the siren-call just yet. He hasn’t yet had enough of his Swan. He taps into just enough of his ability to shed most of the water off of their skin, but they’ll still end up ruining another set of silk sheets with the moisture from their bodies. “Hold on just a little tighter, lass. I’ve got you.”

He feels her groan against the skin of his shoulder and neck, where she dropped her head once her orgasm hit. But she does as he asks, legs muscles taking a firmer grip on his hips and arms wrapping around his chest. He carefully lays her down before joining her on the bed, body close to hers. He lets her float and drift on the high for a while, skimming his fingers and left hand over the curves and valleys of her skin. But then he can’t resist kissing the exposed line of her jaw. And then her throat and collarbone. This woman of contradictions—princess, sorceress, warrior, sheriff, lover, fighter—simply being near her has become vital to his continued existence. It’s when he’s kissing her stomach that he looks up and notices her green eyes staring at him with love and awe.

“Welcome home, Killian.”

“Why thank you, love! If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that this poor, humble sailor was missed.”

“You are many things, my Lord Admiral, but poor and humble aren’t among them. But yes, I was a complete brat to everyone all day because I couldn’t get you out of my head!”

“So, you’re saying you’ve been naughty, princess?” The question is accompanied by another kiss above her navel and a light slap of his hand against her hipbone. “Have you earned a spanking, darling?”

Emma grins at his incorrigible playfulness. The only warning he gets is the flash of emerald fire in her eyes before he is flipped over onto his back and straddled. “I might have at that, Captain, but you definitely deserve punishment for spying on me.”

“Is it really spying if the person in question belongs--” His words are cut off in a hiss of pleasure as she sinks down on him. “Gods help me, woman, but I am all yours!” Emma knows that he waited on her pleasure, that he brought her release without taking his own. They have all night, but she wants to see him just as needy, just as frantic, and just as bonelessly satisfied as she was moments ago. She takes him hard and fast, knowing exactly how close he came to losing control in their shower, how desperate he was to come with her. She knows his body almost as well as her own, using that knowledge to touch and kiss him in just the right places, even as his thumb works over her clit to build the pressure back inside her again.

He sits up, wrapping an arm around her and pining her to his chest. Their mouths meld together in a duel of tongues. A vicious, desperate kiss. Every breath is shared, every thought passes from one to the other, pleasure and love echoing back. It could be hours, minutes, or mere seconds; all that matters is the fact that together, they are creating a whole much stronger than either of them alone. When they both come, screaming each other’s names, a burning white light surrounds them before pulsing out into the universe.


End file.
